as the sounds swell
by faorism
Summary: Loki/Thor, AU: Thor is a porn star. Loki is his fluffer. Somehow, they make it work.


_Notes_: AU featuring D/s, non-monogamy, and pseudo-incest. Written for a from the norsekink meme on livejournal. Edited _extensively_ by my waifu, calciseptine. The title is based off of a line from Maps & Atlases' Pigeon.

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><p>Loki is already unscrewing the cap off an oversized bottle of water when Thor stomps into the area sectioned off for them beside the filming stage. Thor breathes—pants, really—in long and rumbling jolts, and it's a surprise he hasn't winded himself into a fainting spell. He's certainly sweating enough: a greasy sheen of sweetsalty/bitter sweat covers the entirety of his body, from his crown to his brow to his neck and all the way down to the V of his pelvis. Thor has the endurance of an ox, but no man can ward off dehydration, especially when exposed to the burning lights for a half-dozen cameras recording him from every angle as he fucked some girl rigorously (and since they're doing the uninterrupted shots today) without many pauses.

Hence, the water. Loki waits until Thor throws himself onto his stool like the giant oaf he is to approach the man. He positions himself between Thor's legs, which unconsciously widen to allow the impasse.

"Loki," Thor exclaims as he slides his hands up Loki's thighs to rest on his hips, dragging Loki close and intimate. "How I needed a break with you! Even if we only have a short while, at least we have the time at all." Thor smiles widely, naively, his eyes crinkling at their sides with his earnestness. He's brimming with such an excessive amount of sweetness that a lesser man would have thrown the world away just to keep Thor so happy.

But Loki can smell the thick clot of musk and sex of Thor's skin even from this distance; he can taste the tang of Thor's exhaustion on his tongue; and against the inner sides of his knees, Loki can feel the heat of Thor's erection through his modesty towel. The combination is familiar, sickening, and exciting, drawing Loki to it like he's starving for it.

Starving for _Thor_.

This hunger forces him to abandon the initial plan of banter followed by a quick blow job (minus the climax) and a few fluffer-related tasks he has to check before the next take. Finger pads contacting with skin just above Thor's brow, Loki strokes upward, a short and indelicate movement to Thor's hair. He quickly tucks back some stray locks before digging in his fingers to their crooks. Loki doesn't pull or run his fingers through the thick, shoulder-length blond mass; he simply clasps his hand and squeezes, the fine hair knotting slightly in his grasp.

Thor's smile drops, but not unbecomingly so. Reflexively, he closes his eyes and drops his head back, knowing what Loki wants from him without a single word passing between them. (Thor's impulse comes less from a mutual understanding and more from the fact that he is as malleable as the gold of his hair. Loki, after all, has had Thor trained to obey his whims almost since the very moment they started this particular arrangement.) Thor even parts his mouth for Loki, his full lips hanging open wide and wanton like they're ready for a cock.

Loki raises the lip of the bottle to rest against Thor's teeth. The angle is not enough for the water to spill out but enough that Thor can breath in its moist coldness. It thrills Loki beyond words to see the muscles in Thor's neck tense when Thor realizes just how thirsty he is, and in response Loki meanly turns the bottle in his hand. The plastic taps against Thor's teeth and gums as it rotates round and round, never spilling a drop. Thor tightens his hands on Loki's waist, demanding when he knows Loki will ignore his demands, asking when he has no place to ask. Thor's erection wilts slightly, which is counterproductive considering what Loki gets paid for... but no matter.

Only until Thor's tongue moves to lick the bottle's mouth does Loki yield. The rush of water he pours into Thor's mouth surprises the the other man, and Thor chokes as the liquid streams down his throat without warning. He coughs loudly—tries to growl "Loki" but cannot—and Loki just laughs at the result of his game, yanking on the hair in his fist when Thor tries to turn away.

Thor does not appreciate the hold as much as Loki does, so Loki leans down and whispers, "Submit, brother" against the shell of Thor's ear.

The effect is instantaneous. Thor shudders at the command in Loki's voice, shudders as he obeys, and shudders at the endearment. (The odd pet name has more than once caused trouble with many a cameraman, fluffer, film star, and director, not that their staring with absolute askance at the pair of them will stop Loki.)

Recovered, Thor's mouth seals against the bottle, and he swallows and sucks until Loki deems he's had enough. He draws the bottle back and Thor, with droplets of water clinging to his beard, moves to follow. Loki should find a way to punish him for this little indiscretion; instead he quickly drops his head so his mouth hovers just above Thor's. When Loki exhales, Thor breathes it in and groans, moving his hands in needy twinges against Loki's hips yet again. He doesn't say a thing as Loki twists the bottle cap back on and tosses it a few feet away.

This close, Loki can see the faint brush of a pale freckle underneath the cake of stage make-up Thor has plastered to his face. He finds one particular spot—a freckle on the side of his nose, just next to the bridge—and kisses it, his own nose bending against Thor's cheek. The contact makes Thor's foundation rub onto Loki, filling his pores with its chalk and greasiness.

Blond lashes flicker against his skin, and Loki hums Thor's name to this little freckle. Then he finds another and another and another, making his way down slowly, methodically. The pace is near tedious and he knows for a fact that the tip of his nose is now as powdered as Thor's. (It nearly makes him laugh, just thinking about how Thor will have a line down his face where Loki's touched his.) As he hunts for more and more freckles, his hands fall down to Thor's broad shoulders then to the curve of his biceps, tracing the contours of Thor's form, feeling the strength residing in his uncoiled muscles, feeling how they tense in anticipation, in preparation, in excitement. Thor responds likewise: he presses the tips of his wide fingers under the hem of Loki's shirt, outlining Loki's pale, jutting pelvis in clumsy, lust-addled loops.

Once more Loki somehow ends up hovering over Thor's mouth. Thor smiles with _that grin_ of his and leans forward to capture Loki's lips—Loki dodges him and instead makes an orchestrated detour to kiss the bristles of Thor's beard. When Thor whines pathetically, unbecomingly, Loki can't hold back a huffed laugh that's much too unpolished and unconscious for his own tastes. The slip is something Thor would likely comment on, so Loki distracts Thor by nipping sharply at his jaw. Thor's beard is harsh and punishing to Loki's lips, but Thor's breath hitches so sweetly in his ear that Loki continues despite the irritation.

Loki wants these teasing ministrations to last longer, to last forever, to last until Thor's lust rescinds and all that remains is his yielding to Loki's insatiable curiosity. (He's done it before. It's not a hard trick.) But Loki is very aware of his time constants and awful restrictions. He has never been fired for temporarily ignoring these rules, yes, but he's come close. Normally he would not care but he _likes_ his job and would very much like to keep it. No matter how tempting it is to steal Thor away—to make him come and to ruin him and to bruise his leather-tight skin—Loki knows that time is measured, that time is money, that time here is someone else's. And this "someone else" has made the rules for how Loki and Thor's time is spent together onsite: keep him hard, don't let him come, make sure he's ready for the camera, no marks of any kind, keep him hydrated, ad nauseam. So while it disgusts Loki to listen and comply, to obey an authority that is not his own, he must. He will do whatever it takes to establish his presence in Thor's life because, above all else, Loki wants Thor to _himself_.

In the light of their situation, this desire is awfully ironic, especially considering that when he finally decides to get back on schedule, Loki licks Thor's lips and is shocked by the combined taste of mouthwash and the bittersweet come of a woman. The sensation of the latter is subtle and buried, like Thor tried to wash it out and thought he had finished.

But no. It's still there and—lost—Loki kisses into it.

Thor grins against Loki like he's won something. The kiss gives him too much confidence and as Loki slides his tongue past Thor's lips (reaching for a taste that isn't that of a woman), Thor pulls Loki into his lap in an awkward, unthoughtful yank.

Rolling his eyes, Loki repositions himself so he rests on the very end of Thor's knees without falling off. One hand goes up to Thor's neck, holding and controlling the depth of their kiss, and the other down to the modesty towel. Loki considers his action for only a second before spreading the towel open and gripping Thor's still half-hard cock. The weight of it is heavy in Loki's palm as he pumps it in drawn out, steady flicks of his wrist.

Thor relaxes instantaneously, chanting Loki's name in lazy grunts as he lifts his hips in tandem with Loki's hand. Loki rises and falls likewise, his feet flexing in his shoes as he follows Thor's thrusts. The stool squeaks loudly beneath them but Loki doesn't lessen his grip even as Thor one-handedly fumbles with Loki's pants zipper. Although Loki appreciates the bumbling sentiment, a quick glance at his watch (traces of precome smeared on the glass face) tells him to expect a stagehand soon to fetch their star, and Loki still needs to have time to touch Thor's face up.

His thoughts must be obvious because as he turns them in his head, Thor barks, "Don't stop," hoarse and authoritative into the space share by their mouths.

"No, we must." Loki pulls back but Thor has him in a vice grip. Thor not wanting to stop isn't an uncommon occurrence, but Loki feels it more keenly in the way Thor mirrors his impatient frown. The sight sends a dark, ugly, resentful trill through him.

"Come on, Loki, just let me—" "No."

"Loki..." "No."

"Stop—" "_No_."

"Brother, stop resisting and _enjoy_. Lok—"

Loki cruelly squeezes his fist around Thor's erection, sneering as Thor grimaces in pain. Loki slides off Thor's thighs and, with Thor's cock still in hand, he makes Thor stand and then turns him around. There's a string of harsh expletives from Thor as Loki forces him down until Thor's chest is flush against the stool seat, bent knees knocking against its metal legs. The entire action takes a meander handful of seconds, but Loki can feel the light atmosphere they had been building break.

What's left is raw. Thor is naked, face-down, and hard; he could physically resist but chooses not to. Loki stands behind him with his thighs presses against Thor's hamstrings, while Thor's bare ass presses against the placket of Loki's jeans, his dick hardening behind the zipper. Even though Thor does not attempt to get up, Loki still bends forward and splays his free hand between Thor's shoulder blades to pin him.

"Enjoy myself?" Loki parrots mockingly, spitting each word. "How do you expect me to 'enjoy myself' when I can taste Sif on your lips?"

Loki had guessed at the name, but by the way Thor stiffens, he must have been right. Thor makes an aborted sound to respond, but Loki is not done. He moves his hand to Thor's neck and sinks his nails into the vulnerable, thin flesh there. "_I_ speak now, brother."

Thor moans at the tone and pain, distracted from his resistence by the familiarity of his own submission. Loki's voice is thick but not angry when he continues, "I am not a jealous man. Quite frankly, I don't care where your dick ends up—just that you always know it's mine. I allow you to be here. I give you permission to participate in this profession that you _so_ love." Loki swirls a fingertip around of the tip of Thor's cock, spreading the pre-come from the bulbous head to the rest of the shaft in small increments. "Why, I even support you in your endeavors: I come out here, I pretty you up, I send you to your director, and I swallow your cock between takes. What more can you ask for?"

Unfortunately, reprimanding Thor never quite works out as well as Loki wants it to. Thor is too stubborn to guilt himself into the coma Loki desires, but the confusion and self-doubt written in Thor's muscles is enough to make Loki flush with pleasure. His hands shake; he makes the conscious effort to steady them, but it results in Loki jerking Thor off again, squeezing Thor's neck in more of a comfort than an attack.

"Oh, yes. You ask that I enjoy myself. An unselfish request for such a selfish man. Don't come."

The ending non sequitur is marked by a kiss to Thor's spine. (Then another and another and another...) Thor moans hoarsely and slurs some affectionate gibberish that Loki doesn't bother paying attention to. Instead, Loki drapes his narrow torso over Thor's broad back, and he must rise to his tiptoes for just the right angle.

The demanding position is worth it. Thor shivers and rocks back into Loki so frantically the stool slides a few inches backward, and Loki's fingers must scrabble for purchase on Thor's slick flesh. Loki responds by thrusting against Thor with equal and fervent abandon, and knows that Thor can feel his erection between them. It's an interesting and maddening sensation. (Thor must think so too, if his high keens are an indication.) It is especially interesting once Loki begins to alternate between these jarring thrusts action and a flat slide, when he lays his hips flush with Thor's and_moves_.

Thor reaches behind him and grabs at one of Loki's belt loops, tugging awkwardly at the fabric. "Please," he pleads, barely coherent as he battles his urge to come. "I'm sorry—please—Loki, let me feel you. I'm sorry. I did not mean—Loki."

Although Loki would never admit it, he is thankful for the opportunity Thor presented him. He would have hated to come in his pants like a schoolboy.

"Just this once," Loki rasps into Thor's ear. "Just this once I will forgive you, brother, and only because you sound sincere."

As he stands up straight, he threads his fingers through Thor's hair again, grasps, and pulls. Thor—so eager to please—twists off the stool at Loki's direction, his knees cracking violently and painfully against the ground. His thick fingers cart over Loki's pants, zigzagging up until they settle over Loki's erection. They ghost over the shape reverently, but the light touch is not enough for either man. When, daringly, Thor drags his thumbnail over the zipper's teeth, Loki stifles a whimper. Thor takes as a sign he's doing something right, so he yanks down the zip too eagerly and quickly to be anything other than a utilitarian task. Loki holds Thor's head in place as his cock springs free so it slaps against his cheek.

Thor's eyes lock with Loki's, his mouth hovering over Loki's cock. Loki has been with Thor for so long he knows Thor wants to apologize again, wants to voice something sentimental, guilt-ridden, and misplaced. He will tell Loki how he would give anything up to make Loki happy, even if it means sacrificing a job he finds fulfilling and fun, or how he can find a way to make their situation better. He will tell Loki how well he fits in the fold of his arms or how a starburst of contentment erupts in his heart every time he sees a genuine smile on Loki's lips. He will tell Loki how much he loves him.

He will say many things, but nothing Loki wants to hear.

"Suck," he hisses when Thor opens his mouth to give Loki his fervid platitudes. Thor stumbles over his words and thoughts, eyes flickering between meeting Loki's eyes and staring needingly at Loki's cock. Thor is caught blindsided, not knowing whether to fulfill Loki's current demand or address the larger issue of his perceived betrayal. But Thor is rash and never one to delay anything unnecessarily. He _wants_ Loki to be happy in their relationship, but it's a testament to how aroused Thor is when he ignores his impulses in favor of obeying Loki, taking in a stuttering breath before swallowing Loki whole.

Tired of with the task of teasing Thor, Loki jumps to facefucking Thor in brutal earnest, loving the way Thor chokes in surprise just as he did with the water. Thor recovers from the shock more quickly this time, his tongue and teeth and lips and throat moving in smooth and practiced unison. Thor's flushed mouth stretches wantonly around Loki's girth. Every time he takes Loki to the base, his beard rubs against Loki's thighs in a thoroughly irritating and exhilarating way.

Just as Loki sets a rigid pace, there's a knock to the door and the yell of "Three minutes!" from a voice Loki only barely recognizes as belonging to a stagehand. Thor startles at the sudden noise, but Loki chuckles at the interruption and just continues to fuck Thor's mouth harder, slower, deeper.

Thor groans around Loki and the rumbling of Thor's throat sends crude spikes of pleasure throughout Loki's body. Thor's eyes aren't closed, staring up at Loki unflinchingly as he palms at his own dick just enough that to keep him on edge. A heavy, blotchy red flush over his cheekbones; wetness clumping his eyelashes, from how Loki chokes him. Loki runs a thumb over Thor's eyebrow, down the bridge of his nose, to the corner of his strained mouth, stretched tight by Loki's cock. The threat of orgasm rushes Loki's thrusts, and Thor eagerly hollows his cheeks as he sucks in Loki's desperation.

"Swallow" is all the warning Thor gets before Loki comes down his throat, holding Thor so tightly his nose mashes into Loki's pale belly. Thor seals his lips around Loki as he takes it all like the whore he is, riding through Loki's climax and not letting a drop of it leave his mouth.

Loki waits until his dick and thighs stop twitching to pull back from the wet ring of Thor's abused lips. He allows himself a precious moment to look at Thor—normally so broad and proud—undone by Loki and his cock. If he had the power, he would keep Thor on his knees for the rest of his life, make him crawl to where Loki chose to rest and swallow him down with no promise of reciprocation.

But Loki doesn't have that power, not quite. So he steps back, tucks himself away, and lets a dim sense of professionalism roll over him. Tossing a "Get up," down to Thor, he walks over to the vanity table tucked into a corner and gathers as a comb, a cloth, and as many make-up products he can hold in one hand.

Thor obeys because he always obeys the little things Loki asks him to do, despite looking winded, dazed, and uncharacteristically subdued. Loki touches Thor's concealer up, cycling through products faster than he normally does. (He was right about the make-up smears and knots in Thor's hair; he will need to remember that for the next time.) With the cloth, Loki absently wipes up the mess of precum on Thor's dick.

Thor's eyes follow every one of his movements, his breathing gradually less hard and panting. He preens slightly from the careful attention Loki dedicates to him, basking in the way Loki's fingers brush against his face. It isn't long until another knock on the door tells Loki he's run out of time. Taking a step back from his work, Loki gives Thor a once-over. Thor looks put together, even though he is not as perfect as Loki is capable of making him look.

"It'll do," Thor offers when Loki moves to apply more color to his cheeks. He reaches for his towel and wraps it around his waist.

Thor waits patiently as if expecting Loki to say something—perhaps to reprimand him again or to ask for another apology—but Loki is silent, unable to break the moment as it settles between them. The shock of disappoint unfurls on Thor's face as he realizes Loki has nothing more to add. He nods, runs his palm against his beard, and sighs, "Thank you, Loki. I should be getting back."

And what follows is a scene that thrills Loki in more ways that he cares to admit. Normally, Thor would stand, tall and imposing, shoulders thrown back as broke the spell of submission only Loki could cast over him and was permitted to see. But there is something off, something doubtful in the way his eyes can't meet Loki's. He's a mere, bare inch taller that Loki, yet in this instant he seems so, so much smaller and so, so much more dismissive. Loki can feel the advantage he gained the second he laid Thor across the stool. Thor has _wronged_ Loki. Thor _owes_ him. The power is all Loki's and it is exactly what Loki wants. Despite this, Loki's body moves without his mind's permission. A hand on the closed door, he stands between Thor and the rest of the world.

"Brother."

Loki lays a hand on Thor's shoulder, their eyes meet, and Loki can _feel_ Thor relax under his palm. Thor's muscles shift underneath Loki's touch and he says, so quietly he can barely hear the words himself, "Don't mind anything I said." He leans up; he finds that very first freckle beside Thor's nose and presses a short kiss to the mark before doing the same to Thor's lips. "I know you are mine. That's pleasure enough."

Loki wants to regret the admission the instant it leaves him. He can feel the advantage he had over Thor drift away as Thor's honest face tries to settle on an emotion, flitting from shock to confusion to delight. Finally, Thor simply smiles: widely and naively, his blue eyes crinkling at their sides. All of Thor's indecision falls away and is replaced with an overwhelming goodness, Loki forgiven for all his games in less than ten words. When he plants a sloppy, excited kiss on the edge of Loki's lips it feels like a loss, and Loki _hates_ losing.

But as Thor pulls back, runs a heavy, warm hand over Loki's throat, and chuckles, "You really had me this time!", Loki finds himself unable to care that he lost.

At least, for the moment.


End file.
